Chirp Chirp Homo
by OwlinAMinor
Summary: Before you make judgments about a person, always check for a dick. (Or, a story of partially true love and gender confusion.) Christmas present for Julie (TropicCitrus). Gilbird/Pierre and Prussia/France.


**Title: Chirp Chirp Homo**

**Pairings: Gilbird/Pierre, Prussia/France**

**Genre: romance & parody**

**Summary: Before you make judgments about a person, always check for a dick. (Or, a story of partially true love and gender confusion.) Christmas present for Julie (_TropicCitrus_).**

**Length: oneshot**

**Dissing of the Claims: I don't own Hetalia. Which is probably good. You know. For world peace and stuff.**

**A/N: The fourth Christmas present fanfic I'm posting. (I wrote all of my friends these fanfics for Christmas because I'm broke.) This one was fun to write, just because gender confusion.**

* * *

Centuries and centuries ago, when the world was old but the people who dominated it were young, the state of the world changed every day. New countries were constantly built and destroyed, rebellions flared up and were quickly subdued, alliances were broken as quickly as they had been formed, and new groups of people were meeting all of the time.

Most of the countries at that time were young – mere children in the arts of language, ruling, and war. They greeted each other like a couple young puppies do these days: eying each other warily, sniffing each other's tails, going in for a playful fight or two, each aiming to find out the other's strengths and weaknesses. Sometimes, the countries would come away from the meeting best friends, other times, they'd come away worst enemies, and still other times, they'd come away some unknown combination of the two.

The first meeting of France and Prussia was one of the third type.

"Hello, little girl," Prussia said, grinning amicably at the other country. He was always willing to be friendly to new countries – at least, until they insulted him, or made a move against him, or did something that he didn't particularly like.

France was at first a small, not particularly strong country, and he was very afraid of being conquered, so he usually tried to go along with the other country's wishes, which tended to be generally easier than running away.

This time, however, he was not going to go with his usual plan, because he had been insulted beyond anything he'd ever heard in his life: he'd been called a _girl_. France had nothing against girls, of course – they were lovely, delicate creatures, and he enjoyed protecting them from cold, hard, evil men and then stealing kisses from them as payment, unless of course the girl in question was Hungary, in which case he would run away as fast as his legs could carry him – but he, by all means, was not one.

"I am _not_ a little girl," he shouted indignantly. "I am a little boy!"

"Oh, then why are you wearing a skirt?" Prussia taunted. "Why do you have long, golden locks? If you were a boy, you'd be dressed _awesomely_, like the awesome me!"

"I _am_ dressed awesomely, and very sexually!" France replied. "These clothes and this hairstyle are all the rage in my country!"

"Wow, no wonder your country is so pathetic," Prussia said, as though stating a simple, well-known fact.

And then, France experienced a strange, not particularly wonderful emotion for the first time in his life: he felt angry. He felt as though his head was about to burst with annoyance and frustration at this horrible _derriere_ who dared to call his great country pathetic. He felt as though he could slice through this bastard in a single blow, so great was the force of his anger. He felt as though he was about to burst into _What Is This Feeling?_ from _Wicked_.

Of course, he did none of these things (especially not the singing one, he didn't even know all of the words to that song), but he did draw his sword and point it up in the air the way he'd seen wronged heroes do it in the comics his butler drew for him.

He wasn't entirely sure what to do after that point, though – he'd never been taught to fight, as he was a prince, and princes always had their fighting done for them – so he just sort-of stood there, looking confused.

"You're not exactly helping your case, little girl," Prussia told him, sneering.

France, not sure how _to_ help his case, stood there some more, hoping that an idea would come to him.

Because he was France, king of _l'amour_, and one of the smartest countries to ever live, one did.

"But I know how to!" he shouted, exhilarated. "I will send for my cavalry! PIERRE, GO!"

A small, bright yellow bird shot out of France's pocket as though propelled by a couple of rocket launchers and flew straight for Prussia, chirping angrily.

Prussia laughed. "Kesesese! You should know better than to sick your cavalry on the awesome me, because my cavalry is at least a thousand million billion gazillion times more awesome than yours. GILBIRD, GO!"

A similar bird shot out of Prussia's pocket and headed for Pierre.

France started to get a little worried. What if Prussia's cavalry really was a thousand million billion gazillion times more awesome, and it destroyed poor little Pierre? Then the bird's death would be all France's fault! How could he ever live with such a burden on his heart?

But no, France assured himself, Pierre was surely the better cavalry. He would triumph … Right?

Both countries watched the two birds fly closer and closer together, above their heads …

_Well, hello there,_ Gilbird cheeped, eying Pierre up and down and liking what he saw. The French bird was, as anything French should be, well-endowed with the right curves in all of the right places, a beautiful face, and some very claimable breasts.

_Bon … Bonjour,_ Pierre stammered in return, taken aback by the lustful gaze on the other bird's face. He'd been expecting a fight to the death, not … flirting.

Not that he minded the flirting all that much, of course. Gilbird was a very attractive bird – quite strong and masculine-looking, as though he flew ten miles daily just because he liked the exercise. Not at all like fat, spoiled Pierre. And his voice … It was so deep and melodious, like the voice of a perfect prince from Pierre's dreams.

Pierre didn't know or admit it until later, but he fell in love with Gilbird at that moment. His feathers tingled with the urge to have wild, passionate sex with the other bird right then and there.

Gilbird, being Prussian and therefore awesome, sensed this urge, and felt his own feathers tingle in response. He moved closer to Pierre in order to initiate such sexual contact, grinning and winking at the French bird as he asked, _So, would you like me to … ruffle your feathers a little?_

Pierre blushed – or, he would have, if birds could blush, which of course they can't. _Yes, _he chirped softly.

_Good, because I'm the most awesome feather-ruffler to ever live_, Gilbird replied, coming so close to Pierre, their feathers were almost touching.

And then, Pierre remembered something terrible.

_No!_ he squeaked. _I can't!_

_What?_ Gilbird inquired, confused.

_I'm so sorry,_ Pierre apologized, tears coming to his delicate French eyes, _but I can't have wild, passionate sex with you. The Church forbids it, and I must obey the church, or I'll become France's next dinner!_

_But why is sex forbidden?_ Gilbird wanted to know.

_It is not sex that is forbidden,_ Pierre explained, _just a certain type of sex: the sex of two men. Homo … homo-something sex. I remember specifically, the priest was very clear on this: no homo is allowed. No homo, no homo, no homo!_

The sad little bird lowered his head in shame, praying that the bird he was in love with wouldn't hate him forever because of this. _I'm sorry_, he repeated.

_Um,_ Gilbird said quietly, _although I can see why it's sad that no homo is allowed, because I love homo, uh … Why does that affect us, exactly?_

_Isn't it obvious?_ Pierre almost wailed.

_No, not really,_ Gilbird replied, _because I'm a guy, and you're a girl. A very pretty girl, if I might add._

…

Now, this changed everything.

_Are you sure?_ Pierre asked.

_Very sure, _Gilbird answered. _I don't know why you would think you were a boy – you're much too pretty to be a boy. Not that I would mind if you were – I'd love you whatever gender you were – but I think you should know that …_

Carefully, ever so carefully, Pierre felt his crotch, and found that … Oh. Wow. He didn't have a penis.

He was a girl!

He – _she_ – screamed aloud in joy, and the scream was definitely too high-pitched to belong to a boy.

_So, we can have wild, passionate sex, then?_ Gilbird asked.

_Do you even have to ask?_

…

"Prussia."

"France."

"Are our birds … having sex?"

"I do believe they are, yes. And Gilbird is topping, of course, because he's awesome."

"Or because Pierre is a girl."

"Pierre is a girl? Then why is she named Pierre?"

"… Isn't that a girl's name?"

"… See, this is why I called you pathetic. And a girl."

"For the last time, I am _not_ a girl!"

"Oh, really? Then prove it!"

"Okay, I will!"

And France proved it.

"Oh, wow," Prussia exclaimed. "Look at it! It's so … small. And cute. And not that awesome."

France, somehow, wasn't any less angry than he'd been before. "What, is yours so much better?"

"Of course," Prussia scoffed. "I have five whole meters of awesome!"

France was skeptical about that, and it turned out to not be entirely true (Prussia had his units a bit mixed up), but what Prussia did have was pretty magnificent – magnificent enough to convince the two young countries to follow their birds' example.

And the moral of this story is: before you make judgments about a person, always check for a dick.

(And Gilbird and Pierre lived happily ever after.)


End file.
